Eon
by 1Past and Present1
Summary: "I'm empty. I spent it all." Sometimes cowardice looks a lot like courage.
1. Chapter 1

The sex isn't worth it, Rouge momentarily decides as she notices how Wave's eyes linger a little too long on a family. A moment later, however, the bat then reconsiders this because the sex is actually harmless and quite good. Another moment and then she thanks whatever god (she does not believe in) for this harmlessness, because the swallow cannot impregnate a fellow female.

Fingers fondly interweave over the blanket, forcing a confrontation of sorts.

An inward breath. It's not enough.

"Cute little shits, huh?"

A shaky exhale. "Yeah, I guess."

Wave wants offspring and Rouge does not. This difference cannot be reconciled. It cannot lead to a compromise. One will be happy and the other will not, regardless of the outcome. Because there can be no 'accidents,' there is only the choice and the pain of one of them making the wrong choice. It is terrifying for them both.

The children are running around and tumbling about themselves, staining their clothes with wet grass and dirt. Doting parents enjoy some soft-spoken conversation, overseeing their little ones' play.

The swallow doesn't often bring it up, but at forty years of age, she is getting worried. She's retired, now. Been retired for some time. Without her career to distract her, she has settled into otherwise pleasurable and pleasant domesticity with an ex-thief who can give multiple orgasms but cannot bear the thought of motherhood.

"I don't have the instincts for it," had been an excuse.

"We can learn," had been the reply, "together."

"I don't want to," had gone unspoken, but not unsaid.

"Please reconsider," was the silent yet booming threat. It wasn't intended to be a threat but it was, because there can be no accidents between women.

The bat feels those fingers squeeze her own, an impatient yet loving gesture.

"You'd make beautiful kids," a gleaming beak utters, a little breathily, as if nostalgic for the future.

"Oh," says glossy, plump lips before they are drawn into a fretful line.

Wave sighs to herself, but Rouge has keen ears.

"Uh."

Blue eyes swivel over to aquamarine.

"Sandwich?"

The swallow's brows fold with disbelief, then disapproval.

This was possibly the worst thing the bat could have said but it's been said and it cannot be unsaid.

Safe to say, their picnic – an originally cute idea – is ruined and probably won't be salvaged, so they might as well go home with whatever is left.

* * *

Wave doesn't allow Rouge to even consider the possibility of sex tonight, so the bat wisely elects to make dinner (she's actually quite good in the kitchen, which comes across as a pleasant surprise and something of a bonus) and does not even mention it, let alone do something even vaguely flirtatious.

The swallow is in her workshop, probably scribbling one of her designs for some board she might put together, sometime, if she bothers to get around to it.

This is what Rouge assumes Wave is doing, because they are not currently occupying the same room.

Actually, the swallow snuck a beer out the fridge and pilfered a cigarette from the pocket of the bat's hanging jacket before proudly depositing a feathery backside upon a well-sat-upon chair in the workshop. Wave now proceeds to do nothing but drink and smoke in silence, her mind very loud.

Rouge will come and call when dinner is ready. She's oddly reliable, if nothing else. And this reliability is both comforting and cruel.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

"Damn, hon, it's not your fault."

"Still." Shadow sounds so smooth, so soft, so sexy over the phone. "I know you're in a difficult position and I cannot do much to alleviate your suffering."

"You do plenty for me, honey."

"I wish I could do more."

"Does it make you feel–?" Rouge stops herself, wondering about her choice of wording before she's even spoken the word.

"Hmm?"

"Does it make you feel…?" She clears her throat, then says a little more huskily, "Impotent."

"Impotent?"

"Impotent."

"I suppose."

"Me, too."

His angular brows knot together more severely. "Again," he purrs in his beautiful voice, "I'm sorry."

And his best friend feels guilty for wanting so badly to jerk herself off, just then.

* * *

Amy Rose is a very good friend. A very good person. Enough years have passed for her to grow up both inside and out. She's beautiful. As a person and an object of desire. She understands relationships very well and provides excellent advice, as well as company.

Rouge doesn't want to take their relationship into such territory because despite all her faults and screw ups, she loves Wave, but the swallow's foul mood has persisted for some days, now, and the bat feels so lonely without a woman's touch. In this weakness, Rouge allows herself to sink a little deeper into the hedgehog's powerful arms (muscular, but in a wiry, subtle way), large hands encapsulating a slender waist. The bat's ears lower with disappointment directed at herself. Infidelity isn't something she takes lightly, not even her – not at her age of forty years, when someone permanent, interesting, fun and attractive (someone like Wave) is hard to find (let alone someone as good in bed, whose body hasn't been too badly ravaged by life, by now).

Amy offers a gentle squeeze that's enough to push out most of the air from an aging smoker's lungs. "It's so good to see you, sweetie. I hardly get the chance."

"You're a busy lady."

"Yes, but you're an elusive one."

"Gotta uphold the mystique somehow, right?" Rouge almost groans as she feels the withdrawal coming.

The hedgehog pulls back, pushing back simultaneously, when she senses that this embrace has gone on for long enough, her green eyes almost level with heavily lidded aquamarine.

The bat smiles handsomely and easily but there is pain seeping through cracks of her façade, like sparse raindrops on a pane of lovely glass.

"I baked cookies."

* * *

"Babe?"

Rouge sets her glass of wine carefully down, looking up as Wave takes a careful seat on the other end of the couch.

"I've been a bitch, again." It's a strange way to apologise.

"It's fine."

"It's not. Fuck. You deserve better than the cold shoulder whenever I get my feathers all ruffled over something."

"I understand."

"That's just because you're scared to leave me."

Gemstone eyes flicker with hurt. "That's not all of it."

"It's the crux of it, though."

"What do you want from me? Do you want me to be pissed? Crying?"

"You know what I want from you."

The bat summons her patience, something she'd honed as the sometimes-leader of Team Dark all those years ago, taking the swallow's cheek in a tender palm. It's a low blow. A dirty, manipulative tactic.

"I love you."

It works. "Me, too."

"I miss you."

"I'm right here, hon."

"Thank you. For sticking by me all this time. I don't... Fuck. I don't deserve..."

"Shh."

Shuddering.

"I'm yours."

Sheen of sweat.

"Just gotta take me. "

Wave lunges into a kiss straight out of the movies, already moaning, hurrying to get out of her clothes. She's lithe and easily engulfed within Rouge's ample shape, devouring feathered flesh within tanned muscles.

It's another makeup and they both know it, both embrace it, for the sake of holding onto something. It will last, for a while. Until they remember what they never really forgot.


	2. Chapter 2

An arm reaches, expecting to find another body to hold (as is customary), only to drag itself pathetically over the wrinkles of the bedsheet – not even lukewarm.

The clock ticks as irretrievable seconds pass in which Wave is suddenly gone and Rouge is alone. It's like living a nightmare, or getting some awful preview of the future. But it's not the first time. It's not as shocking, anymore. But it is no less dreaded. Terrifying.

Sighing, the bat opens her eyes and sits up slowly, settling to stare at the swallow's empty space. This is when marriage would help because divorces are frequently messy and that can serve as a suitable deterrent. But Rouge is just being silly. It's okay to be different. Unmarried. That doesn't make them less legitimate. She reassures herself, at least, when life seems certain on proving her wrong.

Wave's not the type to vanish in the night without a word of warning, though. Hence the silliness of imagining, or even supposing, such a thing. Her departure would hurt worse than that, because it wouldn't come as a surprise. There's been plenty of forewarning over the years.

Eventually, the ticking becomes too much and the bat decides it's fair enough to get out of bed (don't forget the slippers). She then ambles along whilst guiding her arms through sleeves, aging joints a little sore, aging muscles a little saggy, though a downward glance is still gratifying enough before she slips into silk, baring just enough to be desired.

The swallow is soon discovered, as she has made no effort to hide herself, smoking a cigarette and nursing a beer in the kitchen, watching a dripping tap. It's so morbid. She's wonderfully melodramatic, sometimes.

"You really ought to turn that off."

"Mmhm."

"It's money literally going down the drain."

"We're far from broke."

"Are we?" is the question that nobody has to ask out loud, and nobody does.

Stepping closer, Rouge presses her generous figure against a more modest, but no less impressive (for their age) form, stretching on cushioned tiptoes and lengthy legs, leaning over Wave's strong, bent back so as to stoop a little lower, delicately kissing a feathery head.

The swallow grunts with mild, distracted appreciation, allowing the bat's arms to slip about her neck and shoulders without bother.

"Everything okay, honey?" The question is asked lovingly, but also to be polite, as if to avoid the barb of the topic entirely. It's a rather stupid question, asked by an intelligent woman who pays enough attention.

"I've been thinking," is the obvious answer.

Rouge nods against her lover's head, chin fondly grazing soft, fading plumage. "You're always thinking."

"Yeah, yeah. It's a fault of mine."

"It's one of the sexiest things about you."

Wave stares through the silvery trail that rises from the hot end of her cigarette (saying nothing).

"Wanna tell me your thoughts? I can spare pennies."

"There's no point."

"Isn't there?"

"We'd be talking ourselves into old circles, again. Let's just not."

"But what then?"

"Go back to bed."

"Not without you."

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

After a tense moment of silence, the bat dares to murmur, as if intending to get a rise out of the swallow, "Amy says it's good for couples to talk their feelings through."

It works. "Is that so?"

"Better to admit to the things that hurt, than to let them fester in secret."

"Liar. You don't believe in that bullshit. You don't practice it."

"Not a liar. Not always. But a hypocrite, often enough."

"Same thing, really."

"Maybe," Rouge whispers, playfully tilting back Wave's head to force gorgeous blue eyes to roll upward, meeting familiarly with aquamarine gemstones.

"I'm awfully jealous of her, you know that."

"She's not my type, you goose."

"Heh, damn right." A gleaming beak burdens itself with a cutting smile. "Nobody does you like I do." And it's the sad truth. Especially at their age. There likely will be nobody else once she's gone.

"God, you're lovely."

"And you still give me butterflies when you say shit like that. C'mere."

The bat allows the swallow to push the stool further from the counter before precariously perching on the available lap, strong arms enveloping from below whilst another set remain aloft, loosely draped on either side of that dangerously capable beak.

Wave takes a little while to gaze at Rouge, drinking in a slowly withering beauty, before suddenly looking aside, contemplating the cigarette that now burns itself away in the dirty bowels of an ashtray, its presence besmirching the sophisticated marble countertop, almost as offensive as the abandoned beer.

"Hon."

"Babe."

"Why are you so set on this?"

"I dunno."

"We're almost perfect."

"Yup."

"We're almost happy. Can't this – can't we – be enough?" The bat has tried this plea, before, but it sounds so final, now.

It's because there is a glimmer in the corner of the swallow's gaze.

Rouge fears this, because Wave only cries when she's really feeling something, typically something that's been a long time coming.

"I'm…"

"Please?"

"I'm sorry, babe. This is just the way I am."

"I see."

"And I don't blame you, if this isn't what you want."

"I want you."

"I want you, too. And I want kids."

"Honey..."

"I don't think we can keep doing this for much longer. It's not fair on either of us."

The bat nods slowly (it hurts). Trying to be understanding and sympathetic when in reality, she's horrified, afraid.

"I feel like I'm slowly being crushed."

For some minutes, nothing more is said.

"If I agree to do this, will you stay?"

This is new.

The swallow's head whips around again with such force that she almost tips them both over.

"Hon. Would this make you happy?"

"I... Yes, but..."

"You don't get to leave me if we do this, ever. If I agree to do this for you, you have to stay with me. We have to do this together or not at all."

"It's… not supposed to be like that. This isn't about me, it's–"

"About us. I know. And am I contradicting that?"

"Babe, I'm not holding you hostage."

"You know my stance. But I love you."

A delighted shudder.

"This is just part of being a couple, isn't it? It's natural. Shit like that. I can... manage. With you."

"You're serious?"

"As a grave." Rouge nuzzles away the tears as they fall from Wave's astounded eyes. "So. Will you stay?"

"Of course, but–"

"Then it's settled."

"But I want you to be happy, too."

"I've got you. And hey, if they look like you, then I'll have them, too. I can be happy." Left unsaid is the admission, "At least, I can try."

"God, babe." The swallow insists on searching the bat's face, finding resignation and hope on the surface. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Stop fucking with me, here." A husky little laugh, to avoid groaning. "I already said yes."

"We… We're gonna…"

"We're going to lose a lot of sleep." Rouge almost loses her breath as Wave kisses her, before parting enough to allow speech. "Let's go back to bed whilst we still can."

"You asked before if this would make me happy." The swallow giggles and sobs at the same time. "You've made me so goddamned happy. Thank you. I… Oh, Rouge, I love you..."

How the child is to be procured, the bat dares not contemplate, just yet. She doesn't ask herself whether or not she's willing to sacrifice her body for Wave's happiness, after offering to sacrifice so much. Rouge just allows herself to be held, listening, eyes having fluttered shut.

The tap is dripping its music, like the ticking of the clock in their bedroom, counting lost seconds.

"I love you, too, Wave."


	3. Chapter 3

Shadow is silent, evidently deep in thought, a cage for his emotions.

"You're disappointed."

"To put it mildly," he mutters, provoked.

"If you wanna tear my ear off, I'll still listen. I deserve it."

His eyes ignite, then. He stirs in the dim like a shard of darkness imbued with soul, personifying it.

"It's okay, hon."

"I don't want to hurt you." He sighs, then scoffs, then snarls. "But this is foolish, Rouge. Worse, it's selfish."

"Yeah, you're right. As always."

"You can't do this."

"I've already decided. She's invested, now. Suspicious of me, but invested."

"Then chicken out."

"And break her heart? God, honey, I don't think I can."

"This isn't right. This isn't fair."

"I know."

"Imbecile." He runs a hand through his jagged quills, frustration bringing his forehead against a bamboo wall. "Brute. Manipulator."

"My tether is short and I'm doing what I can to hold on."

"Let her go."

"I can't."

"Let her find someone else. Someone who shares her dream."

"I won't."

"This isn't how you keep her. An unwanted child… How can you even consider it? It's absurd and cruel."

"What other way is there? She'll leave me, otherwise."

"Then so be it."

"Easy for you to say." Rouge kicks a stone, walking slowly after it, a hand buried in her pocket, jangling keys. "But I'm desperate and I'm scared. I love her and she's the best I can think of."

"Madness. Utter madness."

"Sure it is." Breaths of stale air form wispy little clouds in the cold. "It's like a gun to my skull. I've got no choice, so I'll be a mother and I'll do a damn decent job. I hope. And I hope I'll grow to love this unwanted child. I'll give it everything I can, then I'll break my back just to keep providing more."

"You hope. And what then?"

"That's it."

"That's your life? Your fate?"

"Yes."

"It's not what you want," the hedgehog despairs. "It's not what the child deserves. What about Wave?"

"It's what she wants. She's what I want. To be with her, this is what I must do. The kid's gonna be okay."

"This is bullshit. She knows, doesn't she?"

"Mmhm."

"How can she allow you to do this?"

"She's as desperate as I am. Assumes she won't do any better than me, if she walks away. Not at our age." The bat is taking a stroll to clear her head, she said, before leaving the house (it was only partially untrue). "I'll tell you what I don't want." Her voice quivers at the end, so she gives herself a brief respite. "I'm at an unlovable age, honey. I don't wanna end up old and alone."

"You won't be."

"I don't wanna die by myself."

His eyes narrow, still burning. "I'll be there." It's a sensation he's hardly felt, before – this wetness that accompanies the burning. "I'm your best friend." These aren't tears. He doesn't cry. Not since Maria.

"I appreciate that more than I can say. But, honey, it's not the same."

Shadow's low grunt is the only indication that Rouge hurt him.

"I don't expect you to approve."

"I certainly don't."

"Right. I'm not asking you to. I'm just trusting that you'll support me."

"Humph. Obviously."

"Then it's settled. Let me be the fool. You'll be the favourite uncle."

"Rouge, I–"

"Think of it this way. When the time comes, it'll be hard, but simple. Because by then it'll be too late."

"But you can stop this now."

"I'm not going to. My whole life, my world, will revolve around them – Wave and the baby. I'm just fighting to come to terms with that." The bat draws to a stop before a vacant park bench, her head heavy on her shoulders (she's imagining herself as Atlas as she contemplates sitting down). "And then I'll cease to fucking exist and that's okay, because it'll be my doing and after all of it, I'll still have her. Her and the kid. I'll have a family. That's all I'll be, all I'll have. My family."

"I don't even know what to say to that."

"'Congratulations.'"

"What?"

"That's what you should say. I'm gonna be a momma, honey. 'Congratulations.'"

"I can hear the sadness and fear in your voice. I despise your motivation. I ache for this child. How can I congratulate any of that?"

"Oh, hon."

The old friends hesitate.

"You don't need them."

"Honey, please."

"Omega and I are your family."

"Again. It's not–"

"The same," the hedgehog finishes with force. "But it used to be enough."

"I'm sorry. That makes it seem worse than it's intended to be."

"Whatever." Rouge doesn't see how Shadow slowly sinks to the floor, scraping his head against the bamboo as he goes. "What a fucking mess you've made."

"Uh-huh."

He gradually pours over the sand like spilled oil, turning over to stare at the stars through the leafy canopy above. "Ugh. Damned woman."

"Don't blame Wave. It's not her fault."

"I wasn't referring to Wave. Chaos, this was meant to be a vacation and now you've ruined it."

"I'm sorry. I was gonna wait but then I got anxious and I needed you."

"You're a real bitch, sometimes."

"I love you, though."

He grumbles incoherently.

The bat finally drops onto the bench, mirroring the hedgehog's gesture, in a way (bending under the weight of the world – her world). "Do you have anything encouraging to say?"

He chuckles at that. A gentle, sensual sound.

"Humour me."

"Very well. Even though you don't want this baby, I don't doubt your capacity for motherhood."

"You really think I'll be a decent mother, after all of this?"

"Strangely enough, maybe. If you'll come to love this child."

"You make out to be like something of a potential monster."

"It's unintended, actually. I only wish this child could be loved and wanted from the start."

Rouge brushes her thumb over the sharp, jagged teeth of a key.

"I don't pity you at all," Shadow says, pawing at his eyes. "And I wish you hadn't called me, tonight."


	4. Chapter 4

"Really? I heard you right?"

"You sure did, hon."

"Oh my god, you're having a baby! Aaaah!"

"Eventually. I'm not sure of the process, but the old bird and I will figure something out. It's a mark of our sentience – how people have progressed so far and devised so many measures as a big 'fuck you' to mother nature."

"Ah, well, she's kinda a bitch sometimes, anyway, right? Oh, sweetie, this is wonderful news!" Traditional, perhaps, but Amy cannot be faulted for being old-fashioned, because she goes beyond mere tolerance and tries her hardest to unconditionally love everyone, embracing their differences so long as they aren't harmful. "I'm so, so, so happy for you!"

"I thought you would be."

"Congratulations! And thank you for sharing this with me. I'm deeply honoured to have your trust!"

"You're welcome, honey." Rouge's hand is being squeezed so hard, it hurts. She shakes her head with amusement, regardless.

This is strategy. She's come for another of her rare visits because she'd figured that it'd be harmless to tell this particular friend, as the hedgehog does not know any better, assuming that a child can only be wanted because of how she longs for her own, someday – if Sonic ever delivers and loves her back (she won't have anyone else). He loves her, unquestionably, but he's gay. She keeps questioning anyway, hopelessly in love and bitterly optimistic that he might change for her.

The bat keeps these visits rare so as to avoid the stinging lick of pity, lapping away inside.

"This is amazing! I'm gonna be an aunt!" It's envy that takes the form of enthusiasm, an effort at fulfilling unfulfilled dreams by living vicariously. "Goodness, there's so much to do! Can I help? Please, let me help. Anything I can do to be useful, you just shout, okay? Day or night!"

"Sure thing, honey. Your interior design skills may prove useful, soon, when Wave and I inevitably argue over what colour we ought to paint the walls. Heh."

"You're gonna be an amazing mom."

"Am I?"

"I know it! You and Wave, too."

"Oh, hon, that's… really nice of you to say."

"It's the truth! As for me, I'm gonna be the favourite aunt! Why, I'm gonna shower your kiddo with presents and I'll have sweets in my handbag, the sort that's hardboiled and sticky, plus I'll babysit for free, and–"

Rouge smiles more deeply, hiding the distance, still hurting from her conversation with Shadow. She has thus told another friend, one calculated to react favourably, so as to further incriminate herself. The more friends she tells, the more certain her future becomes. Ultimately, in the face of social censure, she shall be forced to go through with it. This is her strategy, her guilt.

As Amy babbles on, her guest bites into a sweet biscuit (freshly baked) and shuts down until it's over.

It takes a couple of hours.

* * *

"Pass me that fork thingy, please."

"Sure thing, babe." Kneeling in the dirt, Wave remains suspicious, but happiness has a way of quelling such things. Particularly since her lover is an accomplished actress, able to hide and pose as required at the drop of a dime, granting false reassurances whenever questioned (or when blue eyes linger too long on aquamarine, offering a way out at the price of termination of their relationship). "Here."

"Thanks, hon."

"You ever gonna learn the jargon? Fork thingy has a proper name, doesn't it?"

"Just watch yourself, you cheeky, flamboyant pigeon." Rouge took to gardening a decade or so back. It's a way to keep her cunning hands busy with something constructive instead. And it's cheaper (as in, likely to be less humiliating) than therapy. She's busy ripping weeds out the flowerbed.

The swallow isn't as invested in this task, but her protective instincts have brought her here, to the bat's side. "Building up some sweat, are you?"

"A little bit."

"I like the grunting noises you're making."

A tanned muzzle bears a smirk from below the rim of a fashionable gardener's hat. "Wipe me, please." The bat's hands are dirty. Lately, it seems she can never wash them clean – they never feel clean.

Wave gently tips up the brim, exposing heavily lidded, seductive eyes currently concentrating, then caresses her lover's forehead. "There." Fingertips slowly traipse down, traversing a supple cheek. "All better, now."

"Thanks again, honey."

"You're welcome. Hey."

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"Shit, what a coincidence."

"You love me, too?"

"I do, actually."

"Awesome."

In the pause, there's room to contemplate the disaster that they might bring an innocent life into.

"Think the little one will take to it?" It's a clever question, asked by a fool, designed to trick another.

"Take to what?"

"Gardening." More cunningly, a husky voice coos, "Like their mother."

It works. The swallow's beak splits with a smile that wooed thousands of fans over a successful career and broke many hearts throughout an accomplished love life before finding someone equally formidable to settle with, someone who could stay. Wooing all over again. At risk of another break. "That'd be nice, babe."

"But?"

"But, I'm still hoping for a future champion of Extreme Gear."

"Of course you are." The bat pauses to admire that smiling beak, the flowers seemingly fading, bleeding into the background. She has never believed in being in love (but this feeling – she figures that this feeling comes close, at the very least, to being a suitable excuse). "What about a master thief?"

"Goes without saying, babe."

"Anyway, whatever their talents turn out to be, I just hope they look like you."

"Fuck, that's romantic."

"I try, sometimes."

"I just remembered. Shut up and kiss me, already."

"M'kay."

For a while, the women forget their anxieties (never really forgotten) and it's like they're happily together, happily expectant, mutually and peacefully recognising a hole that opened in their life one day, a hole that naturally is to be filled, a need to be met.

Then the night comes.

Rouge lies awake, a liar in general, yet crudely honest all the same. Staring at the ceiling. The throbbing between her legs persists, as if a reward for good behaviour. For playing pretend so well.

Wave twitches in her sleep, because her bare shoulder is cold. When the bat carefully pulls the covers a little higher, kissing the nestled bridge of a beak, the swallow grows still, soothed.

"Beautiful bird." Rouge sighs and feels the urge to apologise, but she's not sure to whom. Shadow, Amy, Wave, the child, or herself. "Anything for you, I suppose."

The swallow maintains a strong hold on the bat's softening torso (an athletic past gradually being unwritten with bad habits of the present).

It's to be expected.

Rouge still can't sleep, though. Getting up is hard when one is being held down and calling Shadow is not an option, which is so strange, as he has been her primary support system for so long.

Wave snores quietly, although she always swears that she doesn't snore at all.

"For you, I'll do anything," is the fearful whisper. "You're worth this."

Maybe they truly will be okay. Maybe the child will be a blessing. Maybe this is what they need (like society says) and maybe this will bring them closer (and not destroy them all). Maybe starting a family is like a growing garden, a situation in which two people who love each other very much come together and give their all to plant a seed that will grow under their care, bearing fruit dutifully, making the gardeners proud. It's too late – too unthinkable – to ponder otherwise, and so this image will do.

The bat holds onto it like how the swallow holds onto a body, in an effort to forget.


	5. Chapter 5

Suddenly, Wave pulls Rouge aside, gentle but firm. "Babe, listen."

"Honey, they're ready for us."

"Yeah. But I've gotta say something, first. Please."

"Can't it wait?"

"No. Because I love you and I want you to be happy, with or without me."

The bat's eyes are bright, almost fervent, probing the swallow's sombre contemplation.

"You're got this chance, still. You can walk away from me and I'll let you go."

"I know what you're about to–"

"Yeah, and I know you're not really okay with this, even when you say you are."

"I can become okay."

"I wanna believe you, babe. But that's a hell of a risk."

"You think I'm that cold? That the past condemns me, condemns this child in my eyes? That I can't change?"

"Of course not, but how can I live with myself if being with me makes you god damned miserable?"

"I'm at my fucking happiest when I'm with you!"

"Please!"

Their harsh whispers, escalating in volume, draw the attention of strangers' eyes.

"This is your last chance."

"I don't need it. I've already–"

"Because if you don't take it, then you have no choice but to be okay. Now or sometime hereafter, sometime soon, you'll have to be okay. You'll be a mother and our baby will need you to act like one. I'll need you to act like one."

"I fully intend to–"

"Be my prisoner?"

Rouge blanches. She is already so pale, but even her tanned flesh loses some of its healthy, handsome glow. She used to be proud, strong, aloof, independent (what is this? What happened? This need to be with someone, at the risk of everything – this feeling).

"That's why I'm giving you this chance. This is the moment you take your stance and stick with it. No resentment. No screwing around. You won't get to hold a grudge, if you choose to stay. And if that's too much for you, then you have to choose to let me go. I won't hold a grudge if you leave."

"I… But…"

"It'll hurt like hell, without you." Suddenly, Wave isn't angry. She's wearing her heart-breaking smile (the one that makes her lover feel like this is what being in love must feel like, if it's real, if it's possible). "I'll love you, regardless."

The bat's shoulders sag a little, like much of the rest of her beneath expensive and fashionable clothes, slowly giving way to gravity and time, slowly sagging.

"This is the last time it'll be okay to say no. To go. So, now's the time. I'm giving you an out, babe, with no regrets and scorn afterward." The swallow inclines her head to one side, an amusingly birdlike thing to do, peering down the curve of her beak from her superior height. "I'll hurt if you go, but I won't hate you. Like I said. I'll love you, still." Still smiling. "It'll just be as friends."

"You'd be left alone with the baby."

"Yeah, and that's fucking scary to imagine, let alone to live. I doubt I'd find someone else. And if I did, they wouldn't be you. Honestly, I don't want anyone else. I'm so used to you, by now. You're almost perfect."

"I don't think I can do that to you. I don't think I can survive it, myself. I'm so… used to you, too."

"Babe, I don't wanna be your jailor."

"You... You're torturing me, right now."

Wave pulls Rouge into a hug, drawing a gasp, then a whine.

"Y-you're gonna make me cry."

"I'm sorry."

"In public."

"I know, babe. But I don't wanna end up being the worst thing to ever happen to you. Please, be brave for me and choose, okay? And then honour your decision, as I will. That'll be it."

"Don't fucking talk like that."

"It's gonna be fine. You understand and you'll be true. You're consistent. Kinda a pain in the ass, sometimes, but god, it's comforting, too."

"Fine, then! I love you. I'll love this baby. I just… I n-need some time. To… To get used to this. To learn how to be a… m-mother."

"Can you promise that? Because if you stay, it's a promise."

"I promise to fucking try!"

Blue eyes squeeze shut.

"Just damn well let me!"

"When the baby comes and we're covered in puke and sleep-deprived, I don't want you to resent us. Can you keep trying, even then?"

"I am not leaving you or the baby! No matter how fucking hard it gets, I'll keep giving to you! You can have it all, all I am! For the rest of my god damned life, I'm yours and all I've got is yours to take. But, please. Let me try."

It's a subdued scene they're making, yet none intervene.

"I already said yes, and I'm saying yes, again," the bat hisses, nuzzling the swallow's feathers, sinking fingernails into a strong back much the same way as their lovemaking would usually provoke. "I'm in it, okay? I'm in it with you, this f-fucking nest you're so insistent on building. It's a beautiful, wonderful dream and I don't understand it, I fear the responsibility and the l-loss and the sacrifice. But I can change. Your dream… I wanna be part of it, because you're in it and it's yours. I wanna be... a part of you. So, I'm here and I'm staying, okay? And because I love you, and because the baby will be yours, I can try. I can… I can try for the baby."

"God, I don't want you to go."

"Then give me this chance. I'm gonna try. Gonna try over and over nonstop. Because I don't care whose genes get involved, the baby will be yours, so how could I leave?" A curvaceous body trembles. "H-how could I resist?"

Blue eyes reopen, gleaming.

"D-do you trust me?"

"I trust you."

"Good." Fangs are bared in pain. "'Cause I'm not going anywhere without you. And you can trust that. Call it consistency."

"Mm." The swallow slowly withdraws, pulling back far enough to kiss the bat's creased brows, before murmuring into white fur, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"We're having a baby."

"Y-yeah."

Wave smiles more deeply.

Rouge feels that smile etching itself into her forehead. "I'm with you."

"You're with me."

They gradually separate, except for their joined hands, their locked eyes.

"This is it."

"F-fuck."

Before the swallow can worry, the bat rumbles with a bellyful of husky, exhausted laughter.

"Oh, my god," Rouge manages in-between, "I'm gonna have to change diapers."

Wave quirks an amused brow, feeling weightless for the first time in a long time.

* * *

"I see. So, it truly is inevitable, then."

Wave sings in the shower, en suite, a little off-key but delightful all the same.

"Will you forgive me, now?"

"I do not approve. But…"

Spread over their spacious bed (like a butterfly pinned down or a dead frog split open), Rouge waits for Shadow to speak again.

"Alright," he concedes, eventually, with a sigh. "I forgive you."

"Thank you. Oh, honey, thank y–"

"It hurt."

"It did, yes."

"I've missed you.

"I've missed you, too, hon. Terribly. I hate it when you're mad at me."

"My anger is well deserved, in this case. Speaking of which, I've been thinking."

She has no difficulty in reading his subtle tonal shift. "Oh, dear."

"Perhaps I shouldn't come home when intended." He has a brightly coloured drink on one hand, courtesy of a female admirer, the other cradling his phone with elegance. "Perhaps I shouldn't return at all."

"For god's sake, honey, don't be a bitch. I require you here in order to stay sane. Especially now."

"It seems I should retire. I find I quite like the beach. I could get used to strolling alone, gathering shells and driftwood, sometimes pausing to torment the gawking women with my utter inattention to them." Still, he enjoys the drink, taking a demure sip whilst his piercing red eyes wander, not lingering for long on any mortal. His angular shape is dappled, the sun streaming in, broken by sheltering palm leaves.

"You'd incur my wrath." The bat would kiss the hedgehog firmly on his cheek, if he were within range. She loves him with a raging wildfire, an immovable glacier, from deep inside herself. "I'd fly all the way over there and drag you back home."

"You'd have to defeat my cultists before you could get to me, though."

"Really? You're planning on starting a cult?"

"Perhaps."

"A bit tacky, don't you think?"

"I've an eternity to entertain, after all," he says (in an unintentionally seductive drawl). "And flashy Chaos powers."

"Except you don't have the patience for being worshipped."

"Ah, you know me too well."


	6. Chapter 6

"God. I can't believe I'm doing this." Rouge chuckles, beautiful in a regal way, her attractiveness enhanced by makeup, gentle age and a certain motherly softness in her eyes, her body, her neatness and her posture, rendering her somehow more inviting than she intends. "I've gotta tell you, honey, I like this chair." She drums glassy fingernails over her propped knee, one long leg draped over the other, muscular. "Do you mind if I call you that? Bear with me, I'm afraid. It's a habit, possibly bad. Anyway. I know it's irrelevant but at the same time, I can tie it to what I came here to talk to you about, so…"

Light streams in from the window, casting its warmth over ornate pottery and books on display, igniting the glamourous yet mundane bat like a diamond set in copper.

"You're about half my age, hon, and you don't look like a parent, yet, so you probably don't appreciate how important a good chair is. It's all for the sake of the ol' back, which aches and the ache never stops – take it from me and learn from my shitty decisions. I can't even call them mistakes. Although…" Her lips are full and untouched by time, even as her piercing eyes gradually fade and her keen hearing begins to fail. "I have a tendency to underestimate and simplify people. You need a decent chair as a therapist, I suppose, to keep me from running for the door. It's clever. Shit. I want to go, to be someplace that isn't here, but I don't wanna go home and I get the feeling you know this, too. And where would I go, that'd be worthwhile leaving this chair with my aching back, if not to go home? Where else is there, for me?"

There's a tiny water feature on a low shelf, powered by a battery, ordained by glass marbles, producing soothing wet sounds.

"My best friend used to be my hiding place, my place of confidence, but he's always angry at me, now. He's a dear man, but I want someone to listen without it feeling like I'm carving out pieces of myself for their judgment. 'I told you so.' Forgiveness? Heh. Doesn't take the anger away. And I've been found out at home, so I'm here, in your office, sinking into this chair. Talking, 'cause I have to. Afraid of getting in trouble and causing the whole damn ship to sink. Afraid of running away. God. All of this, for the sake of it all… My aching back, too." She reaches for her brows, fingertips treading a headache. "I do love them. My family. They're my universe. I tried, as I promised, but it's been hard. I was never built for it. Even when I gave them everything, it wasn't enough. I only partially fulfilled the promise. Partially lied. Depression…"

The clock, some obnoxiously ornate and old-fashioned thing, ticks from its place mounted above a potted plant made of plastic (both fitting illusions).

"Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is?" She suddenly raises her voice to something slightly louder than politely conversational, a fang showing as her seductive smile morphs less appealingly into a grimace. "It's like I don't fucking exist, sometimes. My life, my individuality, my goddamned body – none of myself is mine, not even my mind! Because I'm not supposed to be depressed. I promised to be okay, eventually. I'm not and I dunno how. My hobbies are gone, my free time is spent catching up on sleep, I quit cigarettes, I drink less, she's usually too tired to fuck. God! I'm theirs. Her and the kids, they own me. Of course I'm depressed, but I'm still committed. Right? She's scared I might do harm if I stay, obviously unintentional. But she doesn't want me to leave. Where would I fucking go, anyway?And I've made her feel hurt as well as stupid. No. Better that I get some therapy. Gotta fix this. I just need to get over it. I need to… vent? To get over myself."

On the road below, somebody slams their palm on the hooter of their car to hurry the pedestrian along, demanding instantaneous satisfaction.

"My son discovered me. I was alone, quietly crying. He tried to help. It's his fault, but I don't blame the boy. My partner – she doesn't believe in marriage, see – insisted that I be here because what the fuck does a loving and dedicated mother have to be depressed about? What am I mourning the loss of, if I've achieved the ultimate end?" The bat sighs. "Just told you. But even if not for those things, I'm just not the mothering kind. I'm not built for this. She already knew but that doesn't make the lie less untrue, the betrayal less cutting, because unlike me, she did forget. Until now. Not as if I meant to cry. I'd intended to just stand there and remember my past adventures but the thought of getting older than I already am and having to go to another fucking boring school event about sport or religion brought me to tears. It was a momentary slip and bam! Fucked. I get it, though. I was angry and ashamed and disappointed. When he ran off to find an adult, I went to get myself a glass of wine or the whole bottle. He told on me. Didn't try to stop him. I know he only did it for the right reasons, assuming momma needed someone grownup to kiss the boo-boos away. My partner, she took me aside, kissed me, and asked me why I felt the need to pretend. I told her I don't know how to change, to embody motherhood like she does, though I tried. She said, 'Okay.' It was the scariest thing she could've said, somehow. Okay."

The brief pause for breath is filled with ambience.

"She realised how she had been blissfully blinded by the delight of motherhood, sharing it within the comfort of having a long-term partner who usually acts well. She trusted me. My promise. It felt like an insult more than a betrayal, this ongoing lie. She was more hurt than angry. I told her what she does know to be true. I love my family as much as I hate being a part of it. I try even though it's unnatural to me, not to her. I'm really tired but this is all I have and I won't leave you, honey. Wave. Don't send me away. Please." Eyes like gemstones wander over the little things with distance. "Our boy is a good lad. He's less annoying than his sisters and he practically worships me. That bullshit about believing in ourselves. Maybe I just wanna believe, too. But I couldn't be brainwashed, I guess. My mind has always been a bit of a wild animal like that. Nonconforming and selfish and crude. To think, I was once so charming and confident. Now?"

Someone drops something metallic outside, like a drum announcing an army.

"Normally, I don't cry. My son found me in tears, though. And I hate myself for being so weak and so untrue. I didn't just let my partner down. I let our children down, too. He had no idea I was wishing I was dead, just then. That I wanted to undo everything. He held onto me like he could make the pain disappear with his innocent, honest, all-consuming love for me, a fucking fraud. It was a hug I didn't return. I wanted to be brave but I'm not brave, anymore. I've become a coward. Mother? Bullshit. I'm a terrible excuse. And how must it feel, to doubt your god's love and devotion to you, as their child? He doesn't doubt me now, but what if I'm still like this in ten years? Because that little boy worships me, but when he's older, what then? Children aren't stupid, honey, and we grownups frequently underestimate them because they aren't jaded and fucked up like we are. Our kids don't owe us jack fucking shit. Oftentimes, we let them down. Children are their own people. We adults may try to forget other things, but we shouldn't forget our kids. And I tried to forget how unhappy I am, tried to push through and be a good momma. But I didn't actually forget a damn thing. So, here I am. Even though I don't believe in you, I'm depressed and you have the qualifications to help me."

There's an argument between spouses, conveyed in curses, emanating from an open window to the world beyond. A third party tells them to respect others, only to be cursed as well.

"Fix me. I doubt you can, but I'm a coward and I don't wanna go home to lie again."


	7. Chapter 7

"So, yeah, I'm the bad guy here."

"I don't think it's that simple."

* * *

Conversation between adults is briefly interrupted as Wave barks loving commands at pair of giggling sisters who have elected to run ahead, likely to find mischief (their difficult personalities considered, trouble is likely to be found, as well).

Dignified and aloof, Rouge's cool façade is bruised and vulnerable, especially evidenced by her hand. Within it, she holds a littler hand, guiding their only son (the youngest and most docile). But there are other signs. She checks her watch, again, and her ears follow the soothing wet sounds of a water fountain that seems to be drawing closer with each step. It's hard to focus on her family (whilst feeling like this – this agony) but that's no excuse, so she remains distantly vigilant.

They eventually find a place to sit where there are facilities for supervised play and alcoholic beverages and snacks.

"Go on, little man."

The swallow smiles at the bat, a sad smile, at the way she tries to encourage something social whilst having withdrawn so far into herself over the years. And yet she stays and tries to appear normal and happy.

Shy but reluctant to disobey his beloved parent who is an adult, whilst knowing that adults can be dull over a prolonged time, their son meekly assents to being gently pushed toward his squawking sisters and other strange children, before toddling the rest of the way bravely by himself, hopeful to make a friend.

Indeed, therapy might be helping. Or it could be better acting that's responsible.

"Babe."

Rouge turns back to Wave, discovering her sad smile. "Honey?"

"I love you."

"Oh. I love you, too."

"You're really beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you are."

"Perspectives, eh?"

"That's the matter, yes."

"C'mere."

The bat makes herself smaller under the tall swallow's slung arm, sharing a kiss of a couple who haven't had sexual intercourse in some time – it's suddenly pronounced, now, by the chasteness (friendliness) of the kiss itself.

Wave feels a pang inside. Why is she still weightless, she wonders, in the wake of this heaviness? Is her personal happiness truly so sacred? she asks herself, silently, for the umpteenth time, gazing into Rouge's aquamarine eyes.

"Is something up, hon?"

"Uh… It's nothing, babe. Just… nothing."

"Okay."

The swallow turns away, only to discern a couple of teenagers 'canoodling' (as the bat, when feeling her age, would fondly and jealously call it) by the fountain, tossing coins and sharing affection with the causality of the rebellious.

"Amy says–"

"Fuck her."

The bat giggles softly, huskily.

"I just wish you'd say shit, yourself, for yourself, to me."

Rouge's amusement is gone and she notes the heaviness of Wave's companionable arm.

"You're the most awful person I've ever been with."

"You're right."

"Still. I love you."

"Likewise. But you aren't exactly easy, either."

Drawing the bat closer, the swallow turns back, the curved tip of her beak pressing itself endearingly, intimidatingly, to the button of a nose.

"I'm still here. You haven't thrown me out. It's a nice enough day. Fuck's sake. We're trying."

"Sometimes, I look at you and I feel guilty."

"It's worse for me. You know I have it worse than anyone."

Wave kisses Rouge once more, but this time it's lingering, searching (that passion they once had… It has to be here, still. It can't be dead. Somewhere – find it).

The bat can't say that she minds this unusually intense display after so long of sharing in the sexless fatigue of motherhood, although it is a little public. She moans in delighted protest when the swallow's hand suddenly reaches for her shapely thigh under the table, offering a possessive squeeze, then an indecent caress upward, until rubbing against the crotch of expensive and fashionable pants.

Somebody might see. The bitter people have a sense for the pleasure of others.

It is at this point that Rouge must resist, turning her head to part from Wave with a shudder.

"Shit."

"What the fuck, honey?"

"Sorry."

"There are kids, here. Our kids."

"I was just–"

"We'll get thrown out. Behave yourself."

"Sorry."

The bat realises, then. "God, I sound like my mother."

"Huh?"

"I used to love fooling around like that. I guess I did it as a bit of a 'screw you' to momma, but now, I've… Oh, god, I'm…"

The swallow takes back her hand but keeps her arm in place, sighing.

"Just like her."

"You're not."

"Yes, honey, I am! I'm old and tired and horny and ashamed."

"That's mostly my fault."

Rouge grits her pretty teeth, snowy brows crumpling.

Wave offers a companionable tug of sympathy from about her (underappreciated, sagging) lover's shoulders (as if this apology somehow makes up for anything but it doesn't, not even a little bit).

"Fuck one drink. I want several fucking drinks. I don't give a damn about being drunk and disorderly, today."

"Hmm. How about… a date night?"

"Hahaha."

"What, silly suggestion?"

"Dating, at our age?"

"Especially at our age. Babe, I know we haven't fucked in a while, so…"

"How romantic."

"You get my point. Let's go out, tonight. Amy can watch the kids."

"I keep telling you. You shouldn't just assume that she's available, or willing. It's rather rude, hon."

"She always is, though. They're as much her kids as they are ours. C'mon. Let's have fun, together. Just us two."

"A bloody date night." The bat has unknowingly nestled closer, resting her head against the swallow's.

"You're liking the idea. Remember those candlelit dinners and aimless walks?"

"I do. You made me feel like a lady. Courted. After you ravished me a few times."

"Remember sharing my board? I took you all over the town. The lights blurred at night. We were so fast. Your body pressing against mine. You had to trust me."

"I did. I do."

"When I confessed that I can't fly, unlike some birds, you laughed at me but it didn't hurt. You opened your arms and picked me up like in the fucking movies. Then, you flew."

"You were scared. I realised that trusting someone doesn't have to rule out everything else. We're all people, in the end."

Their children are playing, unbothered by the heaviness of the world.

"We're terrified."


	8. Chapter 8

"'When we're still small, we're taught to fear the monsters under our beds, in our wardrobes, the ambiguous shapes in the dark. But as we grow up, those monsters grow with us, finding new hiding places. Then we learn to fear other people, their ambiguous shapes. The monsters in all of us.'" Wave closes the little book with a sigh. "Babe, that was beautiful."

"That was private."

"Not like you to keep a diary. You always found them tedious. The therapist's suggestion?"

"Yes."

"Are our kids monsters?"

"Fuck you." Rouge limply holds out her hand. "Give it back."

The swallow complies with a sigh.

The bat avoids eye contact, turning sharply back to the desk.

"You left it out."

"My mistake."

"I know this was a shitty move, babe. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Mmm."

"It looked like a notebook and I thought maybe you'd taken up writing, again. I… I miss that." Wave runs a hand over her silky feathers, fading. "You used to share your ideas with me and I loved them. Curled up on the couch, wine and soft music. Just discussing these worlds we'd think up, together. But then you suddenly stopped."

"I became a mother."

"That's no reason to stop doing the things you enjoy."

"I was careless." Rouge glares at the computer monitor, blank. "Shit. Maybe I wanted you to find it. Some form of confession. Self-destruction, but with a spectator. God. Could it be sabotage?"

"What the hell?"

"I dunno."

"We've been…"

A chair on wheels is slowly pulled out

"We've been doing great these last couple of months. Haven't we?"

The bat sinks into her seat, the little book in her lap, its cover treacherously unassuming.

The swallow carefully approaches, shuffling in slippers on the wooden flooring.

"I'm doing okay."

Wave embraces Rouge from behind, despite the cumbersome chair.

"I'm just venting to myself in written words. Don't mind me."

"You're my woman. The mother of my babies. Of course I mind. We love you."

"I love you guys, too. I'm just venting. That's all."

"And that's fine."

"No, it's not."

"It's just that some of the shit you said… I was hurt, I guess. And maybe even a little scared."

"I'm not cheating on you. I'm not about to leave you or the kids. I don't have any crippling addictions. We're doing fine for money and we're doing fine for time."

"Why can't you just be happy?"

"This is the way I am. I don't know why."

"This therapist isn't doing a very good job."

"Nah, I'm just complicated and evasive."

The swallow kisses the bat's busy head.

"Please, don't leave me."

"I wasn't planning to."

"Don't take my kids away."

"Babe, you're being silly."

"My family is my life. Maybe I don't show it, maybe I don't always participate in it like I'm supposed to, like I should, but you and our babies are my everything, to me."

"Shh."

Rouge is sobbing over the book.

"I'm sorry, babe, I'm so sorry." Wave gently draws her lover closer. "I just wish you'd just speak to me, sometimes, instead of bottling it up or venting in a damn book. And I wish you weren't my prisoner. But our babies and I love you and as long as you love us, too, we'll push through."

"I wanna change," the bat whispers feebly against the swallow. "I wanna be happy, here."

"We've still got loads of time. We've gotta keep trying. Little by little, I'll try harder to understand and you'll try harder to speak."

* * *

"It's a miracle that she hasn't left me. Or maybe it's a miracle that I haven't left."

"I told you not to bleed to me."

"Can you just–?"

"No. I have always been here for you, but I will not fetishize your circumstances."

"I dropped my therapist."

Shadow sets the bottle down with a groan.

"Call it stupid, but it's not helped. All I've done is on me. All my successes as a momma, all my failings, too."

"I truly am disappointed in you."

"Yeah." Rouge leans heavily on her best friend's shoulder. "Me, too."

After insulting her vaguely under his breath, he turns his head and kisses her softly on the nose.

* * *

"Nonsense! I'm always happy to. They're my kids, too, after all!"

Wave had suggested another date to try and smooth things over with Rouge whilst the wound is still fresh.

"We're gonna have so much fun! Aren't we, sweeties?"

The children adore Amy and she is happy to be adored, rendering her generous and patient. She agreed to take them for the weekend, allowing for their parents to be alone, together, and free.

Eventually the pleasantries are finished and the bat watches her impatient children hurry away, guided by the motherly hedgehog who is wasting another day of her childbearing years on an unattainable dream, with the promise of ice cream and play in the park as the beginning of this weekend's many adventures.

The swallow's beak nibbles at a knot of worry in her partner's shoulder.

"I feel so bad for her."

Wave reaches for Rouge's hips, gently pulling her back inside.

"Okay, okay, I get it."

The door is clumsily pushed shut before the bat is pinned against it, feminine in her defeat.

The swallow is always a little frantic at times like these, now that they're older and their future seems uncertain. She stumbles over buttons and hisses her frustration at the buckle of a belt, gleaming.

Rouge feels a stinging guilt, trying to calm Wave with husky murmurs and caresses over feathers, but there's detachment, here, too. As if the feminine defeat runs deeper than a woman willingly baring herself to being ravished, ravaged.

They'd had ideas for how to spend their time. Their lovemaking, intended to be the exciting and meaningful culmination of romance, good food and alcohol, is suddenly the opening act to a sordid production in various rooms and positions.

The bat embodies her age, her fatigue, as she is the shuddering receptacle to the swallow's bellowed release over and over, until it hurts sensitive ears and strains their spines.


End file.
